


Cursed With a Kiss

by semaphoredrivethru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, Dementors, M/M, talk about sharing a brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When young Professor Potter is cursed while on a mission for the order, drastic measures have to be taken in order to save him. Professor Snape is drafted to help, much to his consternation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wave Four of the Dusk Till Dawn HP/SS Fuh-Q Fest at <http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS> first line/Valentine's Day challenge. The line I was given was "Cooperate with Harry Potter, Albus, you must be joking!"
> 
> /Indicates mental conversation./

**December 27, 2003  
Day One**

"Cooperate with Harry Potter? Albus, you must be joking!" Snape exclaimed as he stood in front of Dumbledore's desk. His disbelief at his employer's calmly delivered request overrode his usual self-control, and he began an agitated pace back and forth over the space of three swift strides in either direction.

/That's almost exactly what I said when he suggested this insane arrangement. And all he said was.../

"I assure you, I am not joking. Although, there are some amusing highlights to the situation..."

Snape grumbled, even as the irritating, persistent, and impossible to ignore voice in his head said, /Yeah, sometimes I really hate him, too. But just think, one day we'll look back on all this and laugh./

"I will _not_ laugh!" Snape snapped at thin air as he stopped mid-step. Immediately, he ducked his head to hide his flush behind his curtain of greasy black hair.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, peering at Snape. "Did you have something to say?"

Snape looked up, and his black eyes flashed green for just a moment. "Not really, sir," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I was just trying to help Snape look on the brighter side of things."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Well, I am rather pleased that one of you is being at least somewhat pragmatic about this."

"I just want to get back into my own body before Snape gives himself a lobotomy," Snape said in that strangely soft voice, and then his eyes flashed green once more before a deep scowl covered his face.

"A lobotomy?" Snape grumbled, his voice back to his usual pitch. "Albus, I just want to repeat my objections to this. Not only was one body never meant to house two minds, it's dangerous enough without one of them being utterly mad."

Dumbledore grinned. "Nevertheless, I am afraid that this is our only choice. Harry would have been lost if we hadn't freed his mind. And you, my dear Severus, have one of the strongest minds I know, so there was less danger of Harry overpowering you."

/Bet you're sorry you got so good at Occlumency, aren't you?/

Snape growled, but refused to respond to either Dumbledore or Harry.

"And until we can find exactly what it is that did this to Harry, and cure it, we need to keep him safe," Dumbledore continued, somehow managing to convey a serious jovial mood. "This is why I must ask you, _both_ of you, to cooperate for the time being."

Snape only arched an eyebrow. He had made his thoughts on the entire set up as clear as he dared. Now all he could do was sit back and watch as he was proven right.

/I think he's out of he's tree,/ Harry interjected. /But he's been right before... and it's just something about those twinkling eyes./

Snape rolled his eyes as he made for the door. At the threshold, he remembered his manners, and paused with his hand on the knob. "May I be excused, Albus?" he said. "I need to have a conversation with my boarder, and I would rather not have an audience."

Barely waiting for Dumbledore's dismissive nod, Snape beat a hasty retreat to his sanctuary. He had never before been so glad for the absence of the hoards of children that had gone home for the Christmas holidays as he was at that moment.

~*~*~

Back in his office, Snape resumed his pacing as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I think we should set some ground rules," he said at last.

/That's fine,/ Harry agreed. /And there's no need for you to speak out loud; I can hear your thoughts just fine if you let me./

"I beg your pardon?"

/Bet you didn't know I was that good at Legilmens./

"Not really, no. And I would prefer if you left my thoughts to me."

/That's all well and good, but I think the rest of the Wizarding World might think you've completely lost it if you go around conducting conversations with thin air. Now stop pacing; you're making me dizzy./

Snape stopped in front of a mirror and scowled at himself, making sure Potter knew who it was really meant for.

Then he watched in horrified fascination as his eyes flashed green, his lips stretched upwards into a grin, and the dark pink tip of his tongue stuck out, making a revolting noise reminiscent of flatulence.

/Rule Number One: You must ask before using my body,/ Snape huffed as he headed towards his desk.

/Agreed./

/Rule Number Two: You are to leave my memories alone. Need I remind you that I do not react well to snoops?/

/Erhm... Okay./

Harry made a note to himself to respect Snape's privacy a bit better as he drew back from the early childhood memories he had been riffling through.

/And thank you for leaving my mind a jumble. The next time you pull out of somewhere you don't belong, please do me the favour of being more careful. I have no desire to relive my childhood./

/Sorry./

Snape didn't respond with words. Instead, he allowed mock surprise at actually receiving an apology from _Harry Potter_ wash over his consciousness.

/Ha-ha, very funny, Snape,/ Harry retorted. /Are there anymore rules?/

/Yes. Kindly do not interrupt me while I am teaching or concentrating. In class, that could prove disastrous, and in general it could bring questions that I'm sure we would both prefer remain unasked./

/You have a point there,/ Harry agreed. /Anything else?/

/None just now,/ Snape mused. /But I am sure it will likely change./

/Good. Now it's my turn./

/Beg your pardon?/

/Did you honestly believe I would just sit idly in the back of your mind the whole time?/

/No, but one can dream./

Harry heaved a mental sigh of exasperation. Snape was just as much of a snarky bastard in his mind as he was outwardly. He really wished that Dumbledore had been able to find an alternative. But then, Harry had been stuck inside his body at the time, which was still wrapped up in a mysterious magical coma. He had been lucky enough that Dumbledore had managed to contact him at all using the strange form of meditation that had connected them just long enough for the Headmaster to propose this hair-brained scheme.

Actually, Harry had been lucky to begin with, when his unconscious body was found in that empty London alleyway not far from Grimauld Place. Tonks had been out searching for the missing member of the Order, since a number of their fellow members had been quiet worried when Harry was a full day late in returning from his most recent mission. When she found Harry, Tonks had brought him to Saint Mungo’s immediately. The thought that he could have been left there until his soul was completely lost, or worse, found by Muggles that would have been able to do nothing more than hook him up to an array of useless machines was sobering indeed.

/I need some time of my own, as well,/ Harry finally said. /It's rather disconcerting to be a bystander in someone else's body. I might just go mad if I don't get the chance to feel somewhat normal once in a while. I am willing to pre-arrange privacy for you, but I want the freedom to ask for it as well on an as-needed basis./

Snape growled, severely irritated that Potter had a very valid reason. Abruptly, he stood, smoothing his robes.

/Well?/ Harry demanded as Snape headed for the door.

/Being as I have no wish to share my body with a madman, I suppose I must agree to your term. Is there anything else?/

Harry projected a feeling of warmth and gratitude, and Snape found himself voluntarily smiling in response. Annoyed at Potter in general, Snape renewed his scowl and jerked the door open.

/It is time for dinner,/ he informed Harry. /If you can resist the urge for any more unnecessary... warmth, perhaps we should go and see if we can actually pull this off./

Surprisingly enough, dinner wasn't nearly the disaster that either had been half-expecting. There had been a few tense moments, of course. Most had been due to Snape waging an internal battle over what to eat, and whether or not coffee should be considered a dinner beverage. Snape had pointed out that if Harry wanted pumpkin juice so badly, perhaps he should see about transferring to a student.

/I would rather not,/ Harry had groaned, and let Snape drink his coffee. /I've only just entered my twenties, and I'd rather not relive my teens at the same time./

Snape's seemingly unprovoked smirk had drawn a bit of attention, but most of his colleagues were too busy discussing the disaster that had befallen their world. What would they do if Harry Potter never woke? And what were they going to tell the students when they returned in a week to find their temporary Dark Arts Professor in a coma in the hospital wing?

/I wonder what they would say.../ Snape mused.

/I'm sure Minerva will have a heart attack when Albus tells her,/ Harry laughed. /I wonder if we'll get to be there./

/If not, I suppose we will have to settle for watching her do that little choke she does every time she looks at me./

/Little choke?/

/The one she does when she sees something she doesn't like, but can't object to. It looks vaguely as though she's got one of Albus' blasted candies stuck in her airway./

/Oh, _that_ little choke./

Snape had finally left the Great Hall before he could start chuckling at the images of Minerva's choke in various stages of irritation as Harry had seen it. While his colleagues already thought him a heartless bastard, he didn't need to exacerbate the situation by seemingly laughing at their concern over Harry's fate.

Once back in his rooms, Snape began to change for bed, grabbing one of his knee-length nightshirts from the bottom drawer of his armoire.

/Hey, what about your shower?/ Harry demanded.

/What about it?/ Snape returned. /I showered just yesterday. It can wait for another couple of days./

/Oh no, it can't,/ Harry insisted. /I don't know what you were brewing today, but I can't stand the smell any longer. That and your hair is so greasy it's making _me_ itch. What shampoo do you use, anyway?/

Snape ignore Harry's ranting about his personal state of cleanliness. Instead he headed to his bathroom to brush his teeth.

/I don't see any shampoo,/ Harry said. /Just that ugly grey lump of soap. Don't tell me that's what you use?/

/There is nothing wrong with using lye soap on both hair and body,/ Snape finally retorted. /I have no use for creams and scents and colours in my ablutions, if you must know./

/Actually, I think you do. Your skin is dry, your hair oily, and a change in what you use could make a wonderful difference./

/That's nice./

Harry glared at Snape in the mirror. /I have to live in this body, too. Will you at least humour me and try some different products? If they don't work, I promise to leave it be./

/And what if I refuse?/

/Then I can spend all night tonight teaching you Muggle drinking songs. There's a counting one called 'Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' that I'm sure you'll love./

Snape stared at his reflection, meeting the image of his dark eyes as they flashed green. When Harry began to hum, Snape finally gave in.

/Fine. I assume these products are in your rooms?/

/Yes. We can floo over./

/I know that. I am not some obtuse Gryffindor./

/Bugger off./

/Gladly. Unfortunately, I'll have to take you with me, and I'd rather not include you in my sex life./

Harry, for once, kept silent.

~*~*~

Snape stepped through the fireplace in Harry's sitting area, and brushed a bit of soot from his left forearm.

/How can you tell the difference between black and black?/ Harry asked.

/Years' of experience./

/You amaze me sometimes, Snape./

/Whatever for?/

/You won't shower more than twice a week, yet an invisible fleck of soot on your black sleeve bothers you./

/My father always said that clothes made the man. Now will you cease your yammering and tell me where to find your grooming supplies?/

/May I?/ Harry asked, and lifted Snape's hand.

/Very well. But only for the time being./

Harry walked Snape into the bathroom, where a set of shelves displayed a disturbing array of bath products. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps, exfoliates, and moisturizers in at least four different colours were there. Snape started in disbelief.

/When I was in Auror training, I briefly dated a stylist. I think he only left because he gave up trying to tame my hair,/ Harry explained as he had Snape reach for a white bottle.

/No./

/What's wrong?/

/I refuse to smell like a coconut. I don't even like coconuts./

/Fine./ Harry had Snape shrug. /What do you like, then?/

In the mirror behind the shelves, Snape saw his eyes flash green, and then he was in control once more. With abrupt motions, He began to methodically sniff each bottle.

/Why on earth would you want to smell like peaches, Potter?/

/You likely don't want to know, Snape./

Finally, Snape lifted a pale green bottle, and sniffed. It reminded him of ginger and mint, and the scent had an uplifting effect on his dour mood.

/This will do, I suppose,/ he said. /Though why you seem to have such a preference for smelling so feminine, I will never understand. Smell like a man, for Merlin's sake./

/Smelling like peaches is better than smelling like... what is that smell, anyway?/

/Guano./

/That's... gross, Snape./

/I'm sorry. Next time I make a Potion of Free Souls, I'll see about changing the ingredients./

/Potion of... isn't that what you gave me earlier?/

Snape only smirked, as he gathered a collection of the pale green bottles in his arms. He didn't really see the need for so many different concoctions, but at least this little trip had given him a chance to torment Potter. And he was sure he would treasure the sense of horror that he felt from Potter for quite some time to come.

~*~*~

**December 28  
Day Two**

"Severus, did you cut your hair?"

Snape looked down his nose at the diminutive Charms professor, rather pleased with how Filius shrank back.

"No," he drawled. "I did not." Then he gave a rather splendid whirl of robes as he turned to continue from the Great Hall to his office, where he had a veritable mountain of paperwork to go through.

/See?/ Harry gleefully pointed out. /Flitwick makes four. Four people in the space of an hour that noticed.

/Don't you dare think it, Potter./

/I told you so, Snape./

Snape entered his office, deciding to ignore Potter for the time being. The door closed behind him, and Snape headed directly for his desk, barely sparing a glance to the mirror. His own bathroom mirror had had an attack of 'the vapours' upon seeing him earlier. Whatever that had meant, it had driven Harry to a fit of giggles.

/Snape?/

He ignored Harry. Instead, Snape sat in the worn leather seat of his chair, and slowly brushed back a bit of hair from his face. Unlike the usual brisk flick of his wrist he usually used, this time he moved his fingers carefully, feeling the softness of individual strands and they slid silkily by.

/Come on,/ Harry cajoled. /You have to admit I was right. When was the last time you got so much notice? Or the last time you could stand to touch your own hair?/

Snape reached for a pile of notebooks; his Seventh Year NEWT classes had just completed a term-long series of experiments, and now he had the unenviable task of going through the chicken scratch those children considered writing.

/Snaaaaaaaape./

/Oh, do cease that racket,/ Snape finally said. /I hear you just fine; more's the pity./

/Then why won't you answer me?/

/Because I have more important things to do than chat with myself. Now, if you don't mind, I was hoping for some of that privacy you promised yesterday.../

Harry huffed, but complied. Instead of letting himself just exist within Snape's mind, Harry focused on pulling his consciousness closely about him. Just as he had done the night before in order to allow Snape a quiet night's rest, Harry let peace and calm surround him as though he were back in his body, meditating.

If undisturbed, Harry had found that he could easily maintain this peaceful state for eight hours or more. However, when he felt Snape's stomach rumbling in complaint, he spread back out again to discover that it was well past lunch. Nearly tea time, in fact.

/Snape./

Snape continued to draw bold red slashes across the pages without so much as a pause.

/Snape./

Instead of answering, he closed the book he was working on, and reached for a new one.

/This is getting old. Will you answer me already?/

/I told you not to bother me while I was concentrating,/ Snape replied tersely.

/You're hungry. Why don't we get something to eat before you go back to ignoring me?/

/I am not --/ Snape began to deny before his stomach rumbled loudly. /Fine; maybe I am. But it's nothing I won't live through./

/It's making _me_ hungry,/ Harry insisted. /And if I can't concentrate, I won't be able to leave you alone./

/Oh fine,/ Snape grumbled irritably, and conjured a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of coffee. /Can you feed your inane cravings with only my right hand?/

/I'm right-handed,/ Harry replied as Snape picked his quill back up with his left hand.

/Finally something that works without a major production being made of it,/ Snape said, and smirked as his right hand grabbed a sandwich. It was somewhat disconcerting, having his left hand continue writing as though his right were doing nothing more than resting on the desk as he always had it when he graded papers.

After several minutes of silence, Harry had managed to make Snape eat enough that his stomach felt pleasantly full. Snape had even put his quill down long enough to assist in the preparation of his coffee with one sugar and only a small dollop of cream. Harry, still in control of his mouth, dutifully swallowed, but didn't stop his grimace at the taste.

/How can you drink this stuff?/ Harry demanded.

/Didn't anyone ever tell you it is rude to talk with your mouth full?/

/But it's not _my_ mouth that's full, now is it?/

Snape was about to retort with something scathing, just as soon as he thought of an appropriate remark. However, a voice suddenly spoke from the fireplace, breaking his concentration.

"Severus?" Dumbledore called from the flames.

"Yes, Albus?" Snape responded, and moved to stand in front of the fire.

"Mister Weasley and Miss Granger are here," the headmaster said. "They are on their way to the infirmary."

/Oh Merlin, / Harry said. /Ron and Hermione. I don't suppose we can tell them?/

/I am afraid not, Mr. Potter. The point of a secret is to tell as few people as possible./

Harry sighed; he didn't like it, but he understood.

"Severus?" Albus queried. "Is everything all right?"

/Just peachy,/ Harry supplied.

"Everything is fine. I was just reminding Mister Potter of why we cannot tell his friends the full extent of his condition."

"Yes. Well," Albus danced away from the topic. "I was wondering if you could locate them and all three... four of you could come to my office?"

/Somehow, I think he might have something planned,/ Harry commented.

"As you wish, Albus," Snape said through gritted teeth. /Really? Why, whatever gave you that idea?/

~*~*~

Ron and Hermione were already in the infirmary by the time Snape got there. Harry's two closest friends in the world had each other's hands tightly gripped as they looked on Harry with such utter sadness it tugged at Snape's own emotions to be witness.

Hermione looked over at Snape as he entered the room, her eyes hollow. Ron looked baffled, as though he couldn't understand the sudden appearance of the Potions Master.

"It looks like him," Hermione finally said, her voice strained. "But he's not there, is he?"

Snape closed his eyes as he felt Harry fight the urge to reach outwards. /Not now, Potter./

"We are doing everything we can," Snape said after a long pause.

"Which isn't much," Ron said flatly.

Snape swallowed against a swell of emotion that Harry didn't bother to try to suppress. /Potter, you have to calm yourself,/ he said. /We're not here for a good cry./

"The Headmaster would like to see you both," he said. Despite the knot in his chest, the words came out smoothly, as though he were not feeling every moment of Harry's agony.

Wordlessly, Ron and Hermione nodded, as though they could no longer bring themselves to speak. Snape led the way through the halls, staying several paces ahead of the miserable duo.

Harry, for his part, stayed silent as well. Of course, the self pity he was wallowing in made Snape want to growl in frustration.

/This is a prime example of why you needed to learn Occlumency, Potter. Mastery of one's thoughts and emotions is essential. Why, if I had behaved this way, I would have been dead years ago./

/But my friends are hurting,/ Harry protested. /And no matter what Dumbledore says, I can't help but worry that maybe.../

/Snap out of it!/ The order was barked, and Snape felt Harry start. /You need to concentrate on the here and now, not borrow more trouble. The moment you truly believe that this is all futile is when we have well and truly lost./

/Yes, sir,/ Harry replied automatically slipping back into the role of student.

Snape rolled his eyes. /It's amazing; you're a twenty year old child in a thirty-eight year old body./

/Shut up,/ Harry demanded, but the cloud of self pity did ease considerably as Snape gave the password at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Reese's Pieces," he said, and the stature stepped aside. Hermione and Ron followed him onto the spiralling staircase, and they moved upwards to their mysterious appointment.

They shuffled into the cheery office, Ron and Hermione each only a handful of steps above outright snivelling, and Snape weighed down by his and Harry's own particular brand of weariness. The two young people barely managed half smiles for Dumbledore as he offered them candies and seats. Snape chose to remain standing.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione finally asked as Dumbledore contentedly worked at biting the chocolate shell off of a small piece of peanut butter. "Is Harry going to be all right?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Harry cheered so loudly, Snape winced.

"But..."

"You promised to ask first," Snape muttered aloud, drawing attention as he screwed his eyes shut.

/But I didn't promise to wait for permission,/ Harry pointed out happily.

"Professor Snape?" Ron ventured as Snape straightened once more, yet somehow seeming more relaxed that either he or Hermione had ever seen him.

Snape opened his eyes, and for just a moment, they seemed to flash a brilliant shade of green.

"Ron!" Snape said, his voice gentle and fraught with emotion. "Hermione! It's me; it's Harry!"

Ron's eyes threatened to cross. "Are you feeling all right, Professor?"

"Ron, it's me!" Snape pled, his hands open and earnest. He turned to Dumbledore. "A little help here would be nice."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, I suppose an explanation would be in order," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You see, this _is_ Harry."

"But we just saw Harry in the infirmary," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, but this is the rest of Harry."

His only response was a pair of confused looks, and the exasperated look Snape shot him.

/What is with these mind games he likes so very much?/ Harry asked Snape.

/If I knew, I certainly wouldn't tell you./

/What's wrong, Snape?/

/You know exactly what. Now leave me alone./

"Does anyone know what curse Harry has been hit with?" Hermione asked. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, just as she did whenever she was working at a particularly difficult problem.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore answered. "All we know is that it was forcing Harry to become lost within himself, and we could find no way to reverse it."

"Except to find Harry temporary quarters."

It wasn't Hermione who said this, but Ron. Ron was staring intently at Snape, noticing a hundred small differences that only one of Harry's best friends could have seen. The signature slump to Snape's shoulders that used to mean Harry was feeling defeated, the wide-eyed pleading look that had not lost any of its impact even after Harry had had his eyes fixed.

And just the simple way that Snape leaned towards them, as though he had a _need_ to be next to them.

The sudden light of understanding in his friends' eyes had Harry rushing Snape over to sit beside them.

Snape watched from the back of his own mind as Dumbledore and Harry explained the rest of the situation; how they couldn’t risk putting Harry back until they knew what curse had been used, and how Snape could only shelter Harry's mind for a month at the longest. He seethed over how no one seemed remotely concerned about _him_ , since it was the Golden Gryffindor who had gotten into trouble in the first place.

"But why?" Hermione asked.

"Because a soul is not meant to be free from a body," Dumbledore said. "Sooner or later, it will settle in wherever it may be, and then we will never be able to separate Harry and Severus."

/That's only if I don't kick you out, first,/ Snape added.

/I thought you weren't talking to me?/

/I'm not. Go back to your friends./

Harry did leave Snape alone after that, although Snape could have sworn he felt a gentle mental touch now and then. It was almost as though Harry wanted to see if Snape was done with his sulk yet, even as he visited with his friends. Snape would have snorted in disbelief if he’d had the control to do so; more as like Harry wanted to make sure that he wasn’t actually going to be evicted later.

All too soon, Harry reluctantly stood. "I really should give Snape back his control. This is his body after all, and I was rather rude about taking it."

/The Great Gryffindor Golden Boy, admitting doing a wrong?/ Snape sneered. /Why, I simply must mark today on my calendar./

Ron looked as though he would protest, but Hermione spoke first.

"Of course," she said. "And I'll see what I can find at the University library on Soul Curses. We'll beat this, Harry. I know it."

Harry's response was a smile that must have been disturbing on Snape's face, because Hermione and Ron pulled back slightly; effectively reminding him that he was somewhere he did not belong.

He blinked Snape's eyes, and his eyes flashed green once more before anger, frustration, and irritation flitted across Snape's face. A cold mask slammed into place so quickly that Ron and Hermione weren't even sure that they had seen anything at all.

"If you three will excuse me now," Snape said as he stood. "I will be leaving now."

He turned on his heel and left, grateful that Potter was not only keeping his thoughts, but his emotions in check as well.

Snape didn't fancy crying his way back to his office.

~*~*~

Harry was floating in the dreamy space of his meditation, letting his thoughts move aimlessly as Snape slept. They had not spoken much since the meeting in Dumbledore’s office, and Harry sensed that Snape was still harbouring resentment for earlier. True, Harry knew that he had been in the wrong, but he still didn’t think that Snape should have reacted so vehemently.

Then again, Harry reminded himself, how would he have felt if their positions had been reversed?

He felt a tremor of fear that was not his own, and Harry realized that it must have come from Snape. Urgently, Harry spread out his consciousness to find the source.

_"Imperio!" a voice boomed, and Harry froze in the middle of the room. He was uncomfortably aware of his torn robe and dirt-stained face, but was powerless to fold his ragged clothes about himself as he would have under other circumstances._

_"You have failed me, Severus," the voice hissed, and Harry was glad the curse prevented him from releasing the shudder of fear that those words should have prompted. Instead, he stood there, knowing that he had no choice but to accept the inevitable punishment._

_Black-robed figures stood in a loose circle around him, most of them still wearing the ghostly white masks that were part of their uniform. A flash of torchlight on long hair caught his eye, and he realized that Lucius was bare-headed beside their lord._

_"I needed that girl’s body," the voice continued, "yet you allowed yourself to be scared away before your task was done. Apologize!"_

_As though he had been electrified, every nerve in Harry’s body rushed to obey. "Please forgive me, my lord," he croaked out in a deep voice. He wanted to explain that the Aurors had given him no other choice but to run, that if he had risked staying it might have done far greater damage than this set back. But the command had not allowed for babble. It was just as well; he knew far too well that excuses were not tolerated._

_"Oh, I will, Severus," the voice said. "Once I see that you are appropriately contrite."_

_Suddenly, the tenseness fled Harry’s body, and his shoulders sagged momentarily. He chanced a glance at Lucius; it was highly unlikely that the handsome young man would risk his standing to help him, but Harry couldn’t help feeling betrayed that his sometime lover only stood there with a cold smile on his face._

_"What would you have me do, my lord?" Harry ventured._

_"Suffer."_

_The word "_ crucio _" had barely been uttered before a blinding agony lanced through him, and Harry collapsed to the ground. Screams tore through him, and Harry made no effort to hold back; instead, he only fought for enough air to keep screaming. Merlin, it hurt. Every time made the memory of the one before seem like a pleasant vacation, and this time was no different. Wetness streamed down his face, leaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth; whether is was blood, tears, or spittle, he cared not. All he wanted was for it to end. He longed for death, because it would end this pain that he could not remember existing without..._

Harry wrenched himself out of the nightmare. If he had lungs of his own, he would have panted. As it was, he could feel Snape’s heart racing as he remained trapped within what seemed to be a memory. At least now Harry had a better understanding of why Snape had reacted as he had earlier. It took but a second to come to a decision, and then Harry entered the dream once more, this time as himself.

_"Voldemort!" Harry cried, and he swung the sword of Godric Gryffindor at the exposed neck of the Dark Lord. The blade bit into flesh, and the coppery scent of blood filled the air as the tall figure of his nemesis crumpled to the ground. In the moments of sudden silence that followed, there was a dull thud and the sound of something rolling away. The Death Eaters screamed in anger, but Harry banished them with a wave of his wand. Alone with the huddled form on the floor, Harry rushed to Snape’s side._

_"Snape... Severus," Harry said as he gathered the young man in his arms. "They’re gone; it’s over."_

_"N-no," young Severus denied. "I-it can’t be."_

_"It is," Harry insisted, and without bothering with his wand, he concentrated on turning their surroundings into Severus’ bedroom at Hogwarts. "You’re safe now," he said, and brushed back a lock of sweat-slicked hair from Severus’ forehead as he guided them to lie on the bed._

_Severus continued to shudder in Harry’s arms. Not sure what else to do, Harry continued to hold him, rubbing his hands in soothing motions up and down the other man’s back. Gradually, Severus’ tremors subsided, and Harry knew that he should go._

_But strong arms had wrapped themselves around Harry’s waist. Harry looked into Severus’ dark eyes, and noted that the lines of age had returned to the other man’s face once me. He also realized that their faces were very close indeed. Harry shifted as though to pull away, but Severus only tightened his grip more._

_"Don’t go." The plea was said in a rich, husky voice that made Harry tremble. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but instead, Severus moved in and kissed him._

_Harry’s eyes slid closed at the contact and he promised himself that he would let Severus guide the rest of the dream. The soft press of Severus’ lips on his sent tingling sensations racing throughout Harry’s body, and he leaned into the touch, inviting more._

_Tentative fingers trailed up Harry’s spine, growing bolder as Harry’s hand reached up to cup Severus’ face. Harry moved his thumb in small circles over Severus’ cheekbone, and was rewarded with a flickering touch of tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth, and moaned softly at the gentle, electrifying rasp of tongue on tongue._

_Severus pushed back against him and Harry obediently rolled onto his back. When his lover followed without breaking their kiss, Harry started at the feel of skin-to-skin contact everywhere their bodies met. Despite the surreal situation, he had forgotten that they were within a dream, and were not bound by the mundane necessities of actual physical encounters. It was a pleasant reminder, and Harry moved his legs, luxuriating in the slight tickle from the fine hairs on Severus’ thighs._

_Reluctantly, Severus broke off their kiss, and trailed light touches of lip and tongue along Harry’s jaw, moving down his neck. When he reached the hollow just above the centre of Harry’s collarbone, Severus gave an inspired swirl of his tongue, drawing out surprised gasp from the man beneath him. Smirking more than smiling, he pulled back, and regarded Harry through his fall of inky black hair._

_After the space of several hurried heartbeats, Harry began to feel uncomfortable with Severus’ scrutiny. He would have blushed, but he was already flushed from excitement. Instead, he squirmed slightly, and ran his hands over Severus’ wiry arms and shoulders._

_"What..." Harry began. He paused, and licked his lips, noting how Severus bit his own in response. "How do you..."_

_His smirk turning into a devious smile, Severus placed one hand on the bed beside Harry’s head, and leaned forward until his lips were nearly grazing Harry’s ear. Harry’s own breath quickened as he felt the warm puff of air as Severus exhaled gently._

_"I want you, Harry," he whispered darkly. Slowly, he levered himself to the side, so that he was stretched out beside Harry. "I want to touch you." Harry felt a long-fingered hand ghosting over his chest. "I want to taste you." Severus’ tongue flickered along the soft patch just behind Harry’s ear. "I want to feel every part of you." The ghosting touch grew in pressure, and Harry moaned aloud when Severus raked a fingernail across one of his nipples._

_"Please," Harry begged, and arched his back._

_"Please what?"_

_"Please..." He paused, swallowing heavily. "More."_

_"Of course." Harry could hear the smirk still in Severus’ voice, but he found he didn’t mind that much, once Severus slid his hand down Harry’s torso. Instead, he lifted his hips invitingly, and found himself opening his mouth to plead once more._

_"Talk to me," he gasped. "Tell me more."_

_Severus slid his hand over Harry’s hip, and down between his thighs, pointedly ignoring the rampant proof of Harry’s interest. "I like it when you beg," Severus whispered. "I want to make you beg until you’re screaming for me, aching for me to finish you off." He moved his hand back up, fingers just barely brushing the edge of the soft thatch of hair surrounding the area where Harry most that hand. "I want to drive you so completely mad that you won’t remember a time when I haven’t been touching you, tasting you, feeling you."_

_"Oh, God," Harry moaned through gritted teeth._

_Suddenly, Severus reached out and cupped the soft sack between Harry’s legs, drawing a strangled shout from the young man. "I want to hear only my name from your lips," he murmured, not unkindly. Gently, he caressed the sensitive flesh he held, and Harry began moaning at an uneven cadence, his hips jerking slightly._

_"Severus," he ground out, drawing the ‘s’ sounds into a hiss._

_"There you are," Severus breathed, and he wrapped his hand around Harry’s erection. For a split second, Harry forgot how to breathe, and when he did remember, his lungs seemed capable only of stuttering. "I want to be inside you." Severus stroked upwards, and ran one finger along the firm tip. "I want to watch you finish, with my name on your lips," he stroked back down "my hands on your body," back up again, and this time he ran the flat of his nail along the taught patch of skin just below the head "and this-" he thrust his hips forward, so that Harry felt the heated length of Severus’ own erection against his hip "-inside you."_

_"Yes!" Harry exclaimed as he thrust up into Severus’ warm hand. "Yes," he repeated, and scrabbled his hands along his lover’s back and shoulders. "Please, Severus. Please."_

_The firm muscles along Severus’ back flexed as he sat up, and manoeuvred between Harry’s legs. Placing his feet far apart and flat on the bed, Harry lifted himself high enough to allow Severus to slide a pillow beneath his hips. His comfort take care of, Harry reached for Severus._

_Severus ran a finger over Harry’s entrance, and smiled when he found Harry already prepared. Harry was merely grateful that the dream was going to allow him to skip that step of sweet torture, since he was eager to have Severus fill the aching emptiness that called for them both to finish what they had begun._

_Harry tilted his hips in invitation, and guided Severus towards him with one hand. Poised before Harry for just a handful of seconds, Severus held his breath in anticipation, and then pushed forward._

_His body stretched to accommodate his lover, and Harry absently noted the usual pleasure burn was missing. But he didn’t dwell on it; Severus was sliding deeper and deeper, bringing the need inside Harry to a nearly unbearable pitch. As though to release some of the pressure, Harry threw back his head and let out a low, keening sound that might have been a moan had it not come from Harry’s very soul._

_But Severus didn’t take any notice; his eyes were screwed tightly shut, and his mouth was open in a silent ‘o’ of pleasure that widened as he moved deeper and deeper within Harry. When he was fully sheathed, Severus held still for a long moment, his eyes slowly blinking open as Harry waited impatiently for him to begin to move._

_Finally, Severus pulled back and thrust in again. Harry saw stars as his lover brushed against that deep, hidden spot on his way back out, and cried out wordlessly. As Severus picked up a steady rhythm, Harry began to babble, sure that he was saying Severus’ name over an over, interspersed with pleas for ‘more’ and ‘harder’ and ‘now.’_

_Time lost meaning for them both, and the dream became a wash of pleasure, interspersed with flashes of flesh moving against flesh and the sounds of moans that grew to a crescendo as Harry felt a tightening in his lower stomach that signalled his nearing orgasm. When he did climax, every muscle in Harry’s body pulsed, and wrenched a cry from Severus._

_Severus’ hips jerked unevenly, then he froze as Harry’s name tripped over his lips. After a moment during which neither moved, Severus collapsed atop Harry, a genuine smile on his lips. Harry gave a shaky sigh, and pressed a lingering kiss to Severus’ sweat-dampened temple._

Reluctantly, Harry pulled back from the dream with as much care as he could. He had not intended for things to happen as they had, yet he could not seem to muster the regret that he knew he should feel. Instead, he retreated to his floating state of meditation, leaving just enough awareness to ensure that the nightmares did not return.

~*~*~ ****

**December 29, 2003  
Day Three**

Snape woke slowly, stretching his limbs. He felt languid and relaxed, but as images from the previous night’s dreams came back to him, he tensed and scowled. It was beyond him why he would have dreamed of a sexual encounter with the son of his childhood nemesis, even if Harry had grown to be a rather handsome young man. That last thought only served to further irritate Snape, and he growled as he headed for his armoire.

/Morning, / Harry said. /Sleep well?/

Snape did not deign to answer. He was still angry about Harry’s behaviour the day before, and the fact that his waking thoughts had centred around the man whose soul he currently sheltered had not helped his mood one bit.

/Look,/ Harry said, /I’m sorry about yesterday. I was out of line, and I understand why you’re angry. I wouldn’t have been any happier in your shoes. Do you suppose we could call a truce?/

Snape was silent as he thought about his options. On the one hand, he could agree to civil terms with Harry, and find at least a bearable medium in which they could co-exist while a solution was sought. On the other, he could maintain his hostility, and possibly go mad from the internal conflict.

/Snape?/

/If you ever take my body without my permission again, / Snape stipulated, /I will let you and your soul be lost. I don’t care how precious you are to Dumbledore; I cannot and will not abide by such treatment./

/Of course,/ Harry agreed. /So does this mean you’re talking to me again?/  
/For a lack of anything better to do, I suppose so./

~*~*~ ****

**January 17, 2004  
Day Twenty-two**

The students, upon returning to classes, quickly learned that their Potions Master had developed yet another frightening quirk. While there were no obvious differences aside from hair that was soft and manageable, Professor Snape had taken to long moments of silence after which he would either scowl more deeply than before, or, more disturbingly, grin.

He was just as mean as always, of course; most figured that it would take an apocalypse to change that. But there was a new edge to his malice, as though something other than a perceived lack of intelligence in his students was bothering him. As a result, the children gave the glowering professor an even wider berth than before.

The second Saturday after classes resumed, Dumbledore called Snape through the school Floo Network. Even through the flames of the fire, Harry and Snape could see that something was not making the Headmaster very happy at all.

"How can I help you, Albus?" Snape asked.

"Miss Granger contacted me this afternoon," Dumbledore said. "She believes she may have discovered what we have all been looking for."

/I have a bad feeling about this,/ Harry commented.

/That would make two of us,/ Snape responded. Outwardly, he waved a hand and said "And?"

Dumbledore sighed, the image of his head hanging slightly lower in the fireplace. "I think it would be best if you were to come to my office to discuss this."

Snape nodded, and walked away from the fireplace without another word to Dumbledore. As he walked the halls, Snape could feel Harry was having what might be another of his emotional moments, and he dreaded having to deal with both the impending doom that Dumbledore likely was about to drop on them and Harry’s reaction. Knowing that he would have to do something to keep from suffering the backlash from Harry’s panic attack, Snape reached out to him.

/Potter... _Harry_ ,/ he said. /I need you to remain calm, no matter what Dumbledore tells us. Getting overly emotional will not help either of us, and we will need to have _my_ wits about us./

Harry would have scowled if he’d had control of Snape’s body, but since Snape did, they were scowling regardless. Instead, he sent a mental sigh, and responded with /Yes, Snape./

/I’m serious, Potter. The last time Miss Granger came by, you were an emotional wreck, and I could barely maintain a coherent conversation for the racket you were making. You have shown quite a bit of promise over the past few weeks; I would hate to see you revert to your former state of immaturity./

/Well, I suppose that’s a step up from your usual insults. I wonder what it would take to make you actually compliment someone./

/Divine intervention,/ Snape replied as he reached the gargoyle at the foot of Dumbledore’s staircase. "Jelly Belly," he said aloud, and the statue moved out of the way. /Witty banter aside,/ he continued, /do we have an understanding?/

/I’m rolling my eyes, Snape. I’m rolling my eyes./

~*~*~

Snape sat in his usual chair, an untouched cup of tea rapidly cooling on the small table beside him. He stared across the expanse of Dumbledore’s desk at the Headmaster. Dumbledore was sitting calmly in his own chair, hands folded on the smooth surface of his desk, and looking for the entire world like he hadn’t just delivered the devastating news that he actually had.

"The Dementor’s Curse?" Snape echoed weakly.

Dumbledore nodded once, without a trace of his usual good humour. "I am afraid so, Severus. The Dementor’s Curse hasn’t been used in over two hundred years, which is likely why it isn’t counted as an Unforgivable. Regardless, it is rather good luck that we removed Harry from his body; otherwise we would have no hope instead of the little that we do."

Harry was silent, but Snape snorted for the both of them. "Yes, all we need to do is find the caster of this curse, and convince him to rescind it. Either that, or kill him and hope we still have enough time to put Harry back where he belongs."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, and reached up to tug on his beard. "Well, about that. We believe that the best way to find who did this to Harry is to retrace his steps on that last mission. It should at least give us a few clues."

Snape nodded numbly. Harry could sense Snape was feeling shaken and not very hopeful. The usual layer of sarcastic wit and gallows humour was conspicuously absent. For the life of him, Harry had no idea what it was that could leave both the greatest wizard in the world and the notoriously strong potions master so sad and shaken.

The Potions Master in question rose up slowly and gathered himself. "Then I suppose it is necessary for Harry and me to start to work retracing his steps as soon as possible. Time is running out for us both."

Albus Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes sad and sympathetic.

Harry left Snape to his thoughts on the trip back to the dungeon. An idle part of him admired it as students scuttled out of the way of Snape's path, allowing the Potions Master free and unrestricted movement.

It wasn’t until Snape had shut the door behind him and set about assembling the equipment necessary for tracking Harry's last movements did Harry speak up.

/Snape?/ Harry asked softly.

/Yes Mister Potter?/

/What is the Dementor's Curse?/

Snape sighed, and paused long enough to conjure a cup of Harry’s favourite tea. He sipped the brew, grimacing at the taste that was distinctly not coffee.

/Thank you,/ Harry said. /Well?/

/As Dumbledore said,/ Snape began, /the Dementor's Curse is a rare, ancient curse. It destroys the soul of the victim slowly, until they are nothing more than an empty shell. The last time on record it was used was two hundred and thirty years ago, when one of the Ministry's typical geniuses came up with the solution for guards at the recently built Wizard's Prison.

/Usually, once the soul was destroyed using this curse, the victim would remain in a vegetative state until their body gave up its fight for life. However, they discovered that, if administered by several very strong wizards or witches, the curse could be altered to actually remove the victim’s soul, leaving behind an animated body that would take orders from those who held their souls. No known counter-spell could hurt these drones, and they would be immune to such things as pity or morals./

/But?/ Harry asked, sensing there was more, and not really sure he wanted to know.

/But the first few attempts yielded creatures that were prone to fits of insanity, or dementia,/ Snape explained. /These dark and unnatural creations could only be stopped by having their souls returned. This did not cure the insanity, however; rather, it was made worse. The only recourse was to kill them. Finally, a solution was found./

/What?/

/In the moment immediately following death, the soul is still within the body,/ Snape explained. /They removed the soul before it could flee to the afterlife. What was left is what we know now as Dementors; dark, soulless creatures that destroy every bit of happiness that those around them have ever known. There was one side effect that was not anticipated, though it has been exploited to the fullest: Dementors are forever seeking new souls, so that they can finally die at peace. But no soul other than their own will fill that requirement, so no matter how much they eat, they are never sated./

Harry said nothing for a long time as Snape took another sip of tea and then continued with his preparations. He had changed into Muggle clothes, and hid his wand in a wrist sheath beneath his sleeve. Then he collected a small phial, and drank the contents.

/Will I.../ Harry said at last. /Will I be crazy if you put me back?/

/No,/ Snape answered sadly. /You will just... cease to be. If you had been hit with the variation that made the first Dementors, you would have immediately become one of them./

/Is there a cure?/

/Traditionally, the caster of the curse must remove it himself, and before the soul is completely gone. In those cases, the soul is usually damaged beyond recognition, though. In your case, since you're not being eaten away by it, there is a chance that if the person we're looking for were to die, the magic would be broken, and we would only need to put you back where you belong./

/Oh,/ Harry said. /Is that all?/ His humour was forced, as though he were trying to deny the dire straights they were in.

/Don't forget, Mister Potter,/ Snape admonished. /We need to find this person, break the curse, and put you back -- all in the next eight days. Any longer than that, and we will be stuck together permanently, and I don't really fancy a long-term roommate./

If Harry had the muscle control he might have gulped. /Right. Now, I should tell you everything I know about my last mission./

/That would be a help,/ Snape replied as he pulled on his travelling cloak, concealing his Muggle garb.

/Wait,/ Harry said. /We need to get a few things in my rooms. I never leave on a mission without them./

Snape rolled his eyes but went to his fireplace and Floo-ed to the Defence Against the Dark Art's professor's quarters. There he relinquished control to Harry. The younger man immediately went to his closet and pulled out his Firebolt.

Snape was about to protest when Harry set it aside and dug further into the closet, pulling out his invisibility cloak.

/Ah. For once Potter, I am thankful your father gave you that bit of cloth,/ Snape approved.

Harry sent back a wave of appreciation for the observation and kept digging. He pulled out a sword, an assortment of knives and a small brass bell.

/Do I want to know what that bell is from?/ Snape's voice bit.

Harry shrugged Snape’s shoulders. /One of my former lovers gave it to me as a good luck charm. Since I've always managed to come back alive and in one piece while I carried it I see no need to break tradition. We'll need all the luck we can get./

Snape settled down as he watched Harry find places for his things in Snape's pockets. Finally when Harry was done, the closet was shut and Harry picked up the Firebolt.

/No Potter,/ Snape replied.

/What’s wrong now?/ Harry asked. /Weren’t you the one who was just reminding me how little time we have?/

/I am much too old to go zooming about the countryside on that twig,/ Snape said. /And for that matter, we will not be able to bring anyone such as the curse-caster back with us./

/Would you rather walk out the front door of the school, waving to the students as you traipsed across to get past the Anti-Aparation wards? At least this way we have a slight chance of not being seen./

/Fine./

/Can we go now?/

Snape rolled his eyes. /Fine. But you have control and you are flying./

Harry couldn't resist the mental grin as he remembered the image of Snape as a child mounting a bucking broom. /Yeah, I saw what happens when you fly a broom./

This, unfortunately, was the one thing Harry was not supposed to say. Snape's mental presence froze then turned to static white noise.

/Snape?/ Harry called.

There was no reply. Just the white noise.

/Snape. Come on, answer me. This isn't funny! I'm sorry,/ Harry said urgently.

Then there was silence.

Nothing. Harry sensed nothing; not even the white noise. Where there used to be Snape's thoughts humming just under the surface, now there was no sound at all. Just full and complete control of Snape's body. Harry could feel the hammering of Snape's heart in fear.

"Snape!" Harry said out loud.

/ _Mister_ Potter,/ Snape's voice through the silence was cold enough to cause molten lava to freeze on contact. /Perhaps we should be getting along./

/I'm sorry, Snape,/ Harry pressed.

/Very good, Mister Potter; I heard you the first time. Kindly get us moving along,/ Snape's clipped tones replied.

Harry ground the teeth in Snape’s mouth. /Why can't you accept a simple apology?/

/Why do you think saying 'sorry, didn't mean it' fixes everything?/ Snape countered.

Harry opened the window, mounted the broom and shot out into the night. /You know something Snape, it's no wonder you've got no friends if you can't forgive people simple mistakes./

/That may be true,/ Snape responded. /But then, you and I can hardly be considered ‘friends.’ Siamese twins have more choice in the company they keep./

~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

/This is a waste of time,/ Snape commented as he sipped his whiskey. /How can sitting in this filthy Muggle pub help us at all?/

/Because,/ Harry explained patiently, as though he were trying to explain Neuromancy to a First Year, /this is the last place I remember being before I woke up in your head. I was waiting for a contact that supposedly had information the Order could have used. He never showed, though./

/Couldn’t you have at least picked a place with decent alcohol? I’ve tasted rancid water with better flavour./

/I’ll tell you what, why don’t you bring that up at the next meeting of the Order? We can put it on the agenda: “The necessary selection of good pubs with good alcohol for clandestine meetings.”/

/Do shut up, Potter./

Harry was saved the trouble of wishing he could smirk, because Snape was smirking. It shocked Harry that Snape actually seemed to be enjoying their banter, especially after the tense moment in Harry’s quarters just before they left. But it was a miracle that Harry was most certainly not going to question.

Snape glanced around the room, allowing Harry to see the other occupants of the pub. /Do you see anyone familiar, Potter?/ he asked. /Perhaps from your last, ill-fated visit?/

/A few,/ Harry said. /But I’d wager they’re just regulars. However.../

/Yes?/ Snape prompted.

/That chap in the far corner... there’s something about him,/ he said. /I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s just something about him.../

The man in question was short and thin, with wispy brown hair that failed to cover a substantial bald spot atop his head. He wore typical Muggle clothes, yet they sat uncomfortably on him, and he continually tugged at the collar of his shirt in between sips from the pint on the table before him. He stole frequent glances at Snape, although that was nothing unusual; most of the other patrons of the pub kept looking at the looming, dour-looking man dressed in black slacks and jumper as he sat quietly in his own booth towards the back. However, the man that Harry and Snape were watching seemed to twitch nervously ever time he glanced Snape’s way, and his hands began shaking so violently that it was a miracle he didn’t knock his pint over.

/I agree that we should continue to watch him,/ Snape said. /He does seem suspicious./

Though they continued to watch the nervous man, he never made a move in Snape’s direction. In fact, when he finished his pint, he got up and left without a backward glance, his agitation suddenly gone.

/I think you made him nervous, Snape,/ Harry commented.

/Me?/ Snape responded with mock incredulity. /Why, I have no idea what you could be talking about, Mister Potter./

They sat in the pub for another fifteen minutes, sipping the bad whiskey and looking around for any more potential suspects. But everyone else seemed to be nothing more than the typical pub customer, drinking their purchases and talking about their respective days.

Snape finished his drink, left a small handful of coins for the waitress, and stood. He pulled on his black leather jacket, and brushed at the soft, supply material so that it fell smoothly to the tops of his thighs. The conversation around him lulled, and he was acutely aware of more than a dozen pairs of eyes watching him as he made his way towards the door.

/You’d think they’d never seen a leather jacket before,/ Harry quipped as the door closed behind them, shutting them out in the chilly late night air.

/Can I help it if I’m just too beautiful for mere mortals?/ Snape responded wryly.

/Careful, Snape. I might have to take away your new hair care products if your head gets any much bigger./

Snape chuckled quietly as he walked away from the pub. Harry was laughing, as well, which is the only reason Snape could think of later as to why he didn’t notice the movement in the dark alley to his left.

“Hello, Severus,” a familiar female voice said.

Snape froze, and turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange stepping out of the shadows; standing behind her was the nervous man from the pub. “Bella,” he said, inclining his head just barely enough for a greeting while still keeping her in his sights. “You look... well.”

The years since her escape from Azkaban had certainly been kind. The gaunt, haggard look that Harry had associated with the inmates there since meeting his godfather in his third year had left Bellatrix, and her face was round and healthy-looking. Her long black hair was unbound, and it shone in the light from a nearby streetlamp.

Yet her dark eyes still looked as though she had seen the end of the world. Cold and hollow, they darted wildly about as though seeking any more potential enemies. When she saw no one else, she smiled coldly. Her lips, a vibrant shade of artificial red, stretched thinly into a false upwards curve, and she licked her bottom lip in anticipation.

“I had heard that you were around here tonight,” she said in a sickly sweet voice that made Harry want to shiver violently. “But I couldn’t fathom why you would leave your safe little nest beneath Dumbledore’s protective wing.”

“It’s a long story, Bella,” Snape said, and took a step back towards the pub as he shifted his wrist to grab his wand. If he could reach that public place, he could aparate from the water closet to somewhere safer. “Remind me to tell you sometime.”

“Why not now?” she demanded, and raised her wand. “Somnus sopor pro letum!*”

Vaguely, as the unnatural sleep claimed Snape’s mind and body, he noted that the only way Bella would have been able to make the curse work without Snape having already ingested a mixture of powdered corpse flower and asphodel. Yet both of them smelled and tasted foul, so Snape would surely have noticed, unless...

/I guess the whiskey was bad,/ Harry supplied as Snape blacked out.

 

*Latin lesson from someone who doesn’t speak Latin: Literally translated the curse is “Sleep sleep instead of death!” Translation done with the help of travlang’s English-Latin dictionary at http://dictionaries.travlang.com/EnglishLatin/

~*~*~

January 18, 2004  
Day 23

Snape came to awareness quickly, noting the shackles on his wrists and ankles, as well as the cold stone beneath his cheek.

/Snape? Why aren't we completely incapacitated?/ Harry asked as soon as he realized that Snape was not suffering ill effects in the slightest.

/Since becoming a spy I knew I would be found out eventually, so I have taken to drinking a bezoar solution before each mission,/ Snape replied.

/We really need to talk sometime about your persecution and paranoia issues./

/Yes. The fact that my being paranoid has saved our lives hasn't any bearing on the validity of my actions./

/All right you've got a point. But taking that long term has got to have serious side effects./

/Mister Potter, I will wean myself off the drug when I discover I no longer have a valid need for it./

/Fine! I give up. You're right, I'm wrong. Thank you for being prepared, is that what you wanted to hear?/ Harry huffed.

/Yes; only a trace more sincerity in your voice would have been more appreciated,/ Snape responded smugly.

Snape allowed his eyes to slit open slightly, thankful his hair was mostly in front of his face and would mask the movement. There was a single window, high up on the far wall, and feeble sunlight filtered through the shadows of people walking by the house in which’s basement they apparently were. Beneath the window, Bellatrix was idly stirring a cauldron as she read from a book.

Snape immediately shut his eyes and felt a tremor of fear shiver down his spine. 

/What is it?/ Harry asked softly.

Snape tried not to move. He didn't know how long he had before Bellatrix would determine he was to have awakened, but he knew that she didn't like wasting her potions’ effects on those too insensible to feel it.

/Mister Potter,/ Snape communicated softly. /If you have the ability to disconnect yourself totally from my bodily sensations, I suggest you do so./

/What?/ Harry asked. /Why?/

/Bellatrix Lestrange, with my help, has managed to figure out how to put Crucio in a bottle,/ Snape replied. 

Snape felt Harry seize in fear and then his foolish bravery came to the fore. /I am not leaving you to suffer this alone./

Snape decided that where anger and shouting had failed, perhaps quiet could accomplish. /Harry, think about it: right now they think you are quietly disintegrating inside of your own body and I'm here tracing your steps in search for a cure. If you were here with me, that little piece of knowledge, our one advantage, would be blown. Bella will see if you stay. Go, Harry./

Snape felt Harry pause. The foolish Gryffindor still didn't leave him alone, but Snape could feel the wheels in Harry's head turning.

Harry finally came back with his answer. /I'll leave... but only if you come with me./

/Potter.../ Snape began.

/No, hear me out,/ Harry replied. /You are the only one of the pair of us that knows the Death Eaters like the back of your hand. You'll likely know something that can save us both. If you are lost to pain from Crucio you can't help. We either go together or stay together./

Snape wanted to roll his eyes. /Wonderful. I don't know which is worse; Crucio or time alone with you./

/That's the Snape I know!/

Snape wanted to groan but remained silent. Bellatrix left her seat, and walked over to where Snape was chained up, and lifted his head up using the handle of her spoon, as if touching him with her actual hands would disgust her.

"You're awake," she stated, her beautiful but cold eyes examining him as if he was making a truly repugnant smell.

Snape groaned, as he knew someone still suffering from Bellatrix' curse and poison should. He felt Harry tugging on his consciousness, and allowed himself to be pulled away as Bellatrix tilted his head back and poured a scalding hot liquid down his throat.

The pain was instantaneous. It lanced through Snape's body, yanking every muscle and tendon to painful tightness. If left unchecked, the muscle spasms could actually snap bone, Snape remembered. His teeth gnashed against the pain, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Inarticulate screams tore from Snape's mouth, and Bella looked very pleased indeed.

“I see I remember the potion correctly,” she said sweetly, and turned away as though she could not hear Snape's hoarse screams.

Yet through it all, Snape knew that the pain was not nearly as horrible as it should be. Oh, his body was reacting to it precisely as every other victim, but Snape himself did not register the agony as he had expected it to be. Instead, he felt snug and secure, as though the pain was happening to someone else, and he knew precisely who was to blame.

/Let go, Potter, / he demanded.

/No. / The single word was clipped, and Snape could sense that Harry was actually sharing in his pain.

/I've done this before, / Snape insisted. /And I will survive again. Now. Let. Go. /

/I know you have, / Harry responded. /And I won't let them do that to you again. If I can't kill her, at least I can help you this way. /

Snape began to gently tug on Harry's consciousness. Harry clung tightly, but Snape still knew a few tricks. /Harry James Potter I did not save you from soul death merely to lose you to insanity. /

/I... am... fine... / Harry said.

/Dumbledore will not be pleased with me if I bring your soul back shrieking in agony. / Snape replied flatly.

/....'m staying... / Harry's mental voice was getting weaker.

While Harry was distracted by the pain and clutching on, Snape slipped his own consciousness into position and held fast.

/Snape! Stop it! Let me in! You bastard... I've got to... / Harry's voice fumed before it was shut out completely. Snape had Harry locked away so that he couldn't feel or sense anything about Snape's body.

 

Snape knew that for Harry it was a torture of a kind, this complete sensory deprivation. But Harry had meditation capabilities to relieve it, and he would be well rested and relaxed in the end.

Curled up into a foetal position, Snape tried to control the spasming of his muscles as his mind used the need to keep Harry out as the exercise necessary to providing a mental shield against the pain. This kind of defence wouldn't last forever, he knew all too well, but he could at least make it last long enough for the both of them.

~*~*~*~

Smooth. Smooth and as impenetrable as a wall of steel. That's what Snape's closed mind was. A tiny part of Harry's mind had to admire it for its perfection and strength. Dumbledore wasn't kidding when he said Snape was an excellent Occlumens.

This kind of wall not even Voldemort could get past.

The rest of him wasn't admiring this, however, and was cursing Snape. How long Harry had been here, he didn't know. But he had yet to run out of colourful metaphors to describe the Head of Slytherin House.

And, frankly, that was an accomplishment since he had been going for what seemed like hours.

Right about when Harry was finished insulting the house that Snape was in and was about to start on the Potions Master's heritage, Harry felt the steel walls start to become pliant. First only a little, as though they had become more copper than steel. Then more organically pliant, like a sapling. 

Finally the walls burst all together and Harry floated back up into sensation. Harry was first aware of pain in Snape's lip and the taste of blood in his mouth. Then the sharp deep stabbing pain in Snape's left arm, followed by the screaming of over-abused muscles. Finally, there came the dull ache of a throat screamed raw.

"I'll be back when you are able to react more. It would be a pity to waste this lovely potion we made on someone too tired to properly appreciate it," Bellatrix drawled as she sauntered from the room. Her harsh laughter was heard as a door slammed shut.

Harry simply felt Snape curl into a slightly tighter ball and try to hold still enough to stop the twitching.

/You... are back... I see.../ Snape's mind wearily formed the thoughts into a coherent sentence.

/Snape.../ Harry didn't know where to begin.

/Bella... hasn't lost... her delicate touch,/ Snape murmured.

/I’m sure she hasn’t,/ Harry whispered back, sending comforting waves of warmth. /Please don’t shut me out again. I could have helped you./

/If you... say so,/ Snape said, trying to laugh and failing. /But I make no promises. Only one of us needs to suffer, and I am... expendable./

Harry’s emphatic denial was cut off by a sudden shudder that wracked Snape’s body. Snape coughed slightly, and spat blood to the floor.

/I think... I need to sleep, Harry,/ he said once the tremor subsided.

Harry said nothing. He merely reached out, and cocooned Snape as snugly as he could within all the warmth he could muster. 

And he slept.

~*~*~

Harry remained conscious and aware as much as he could. He wanted to be there if Bellatrix came back. The young man already had a long list of reasons to kill Death Eaters, but this most recent treatment of Snape was just encouraging him to do it in the slowest and most painful way possible.

Harry kept a careful watch. He was almost expecting it when he felt the knot of fear; anxiety and anguish were building in Snape's chest. Once again Harry dove into Snape's dreams, feeling no guilt whatsoever in doing so.

Harry was in a very dark place, and he had no idea where he was. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light and Harry saw he was inside of a linen closet. There was the sound of furniture banging around somewhere behind him. The smell of firewhiskey wafted up thought even the closed door. Sounds of adult voices shouting indistinctly in the background.

There was a soft sniffle behind Harry. He turned and saw nothing at first until a glint of light reflected off a small flash of blue-black hair.

Harry crept forward and saw it was a tiny boy, no more then five years old. Black shoulder length messy hair was covering the face of the boy as he hid, arms wrapped around his legs trying desperately to make himself as small as possible.

The head lifted up just enough to allow Harry to see a set of tear-laden dark eyes beneath the hair. The eyes saw him and widened in surprise. The tiny boy drew himself into an even smaller ball, almost shrinking. 

"Don't tell him I'm in here," the boy whispered.

“Of course not,” Harry murmured.

They sat there, looking at each other for a while, both pretending that they weren’t listening to the argument on the other side of the door.

“I’m Severus,” the little boy said, despite his quivering lower lip.

“Harry,” Harry said. “You know, I used to live in a cupboard, not much bigger than this.”

“Really?” Little Severus’ eyes went round. “Papa says only House Elves like being in cupboards.”

“House Elves and special little boys,” Harry insisted.

Little Severus looked as though he were about to smile, even in the darkness of the closet. But then the door was flung open, and Harry looked up to see a tall, thin man looming above them. He was silhouetted by the firelight from the room behind him, but Harry recognized the gleam of dangerous anger in the man’s eyes regardless.

“You little bastard!” the man bellowed in a voice much like Snape’s. “Stop your cowering and get out here. Or do you want me to come and get you?”

Little Severus trembled in fear, and he grasped Harry’s hand. “Help me,” he begged.

The man, Snape Senior, reached out and grabbed the little boy by a handful of hair. Little Severus whimpered in pain and fear, and Harry reacted without thinking.

“No!” Harry shouted. With a wave of his hand, he shoved the man away, slamming the door behind him. Little Severus began crying in earnest, and he clung to Harry’s neck as he trembled.

“I made him angry,” the little boy explained. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry insisted. “It’s his. Now come on, Severus; let’s go.”

Harry changed the dream, bringing them back to Snape’s bedroom at Hogwarts. Instantly, he was aware that he no longer held a child, but that it was adult Snape who was nestled in Harry’s arms.

Snape pulled back, suspicion in his eyes. “Potter?” he said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping you,” Harry explained reluctantly. “It’s the only way I can.”

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Snape demanded, his voice cold.

“No,” Harry admitted. “I’ve only done this once before. I know you must be angry; I would be, too. But for everything you’ve been through for me, and for all that I’ve put you through, the least that I can do is give you a decent night’s sleep.”

“This is my mind, Potter. How dare you? I did not invite you into my dreams, I did not ask you to save me, and I certainly did not ask you to...” Snape drifted off, remembering the dream he had had three weeks before, in which Harry had been an active participant.

“That was your choice,” Harry sighed. “I would never have taken advantage of you that way. Please believe me,” he begged.

Snape snorted in disbelief. “Really? I should believe the man who has plundered my memories, invaded my dreams, and been unable to give me more than a few hours peace for over three weeks. And why is that, pray tell?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Of course it is.”

Harry’s head drooped in momentary defeat. He had to make Snape believe him, and forgive him as well. But how? Suddenly, an idea came to him, and Harry snapped his gaze to meet Snape’s hard eyes.

“You never gave your word to stay out of my memories,” Harry said. “But you have.”

“At least one of us is a man of honour,” Snape replied.

Harry flinched. “I deserved that,” he acknowledged. “But what I’m trying to say is that I want you to see my memories. See that I am telling the truth, and hopefully trust me again.”

“Why do you care if I trust you or not, Potter?”

“Because I need a dance partner for next Saturday night,” Harry snipped. “Because getting out of our current situation will be so much easier if you’re talking to me, and because, despite my better judgment, I like and respect you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Harry spread his hands, palms up, and closed his eyes as he leaned closer to Snape. “I have nothing to hide,” he said.

Snape snorted, but accept the invitation. Carefully, he worked his way through the layers of Harry’s mind, using such precision that Harry wouldn’t have even known the other man was there if he wasn’t looking for him. With an internal smile, Harry first concentrated on his feelings of grudging respect, as well as his growing sense of enjoyment in Snape’s company.

Once he had had enough of Harry’s uncomfortably warm emotions, Snape moved through Harry’s memories, seeking the first time Harry had invaded his dreams. He relived Harry’s perspective from the first moment when he had been in Snape’s position, through his Gryffindorish rescue of the Potions Master, and onto the moment when the dream had turned from one of comfort to one of a sexual nature.

Harry flushed as he followed Snape’s path. While he didn’t have anything important to hide, per se, he felt he could have lived without Snape knowing exactly how much he had enjoyed their dream encounter. 

Or the associated desire to do it again someday, and in the flesh.

But along with that, there was also the sad feeling that no matter that Harry had given complete control of the dream over, he still had taken advantage of Snape. He felt Snape’s agreement on that point, but also the other man’s enjoyment at Harry’s discomfort. At that moment, Harry fully understood how Snape had felt.

To Harry’s intense surprise, Snape didn't press his advantage or abuse his invitation. It would have been well within his rights to force Harry to relive Sirius' death, Cedric's death or even that of his parents. But Snape simply left his private thoughts as neatly as he entered, not even a ripple of disturbance to tell him Snape was there.

Harry opened his eyes, and reached out for Snape. The other man allowed the touch, and Harry ran his hands along Snape's biceps. His Gryffindor courage made him look up into those dark eyes to see what was written there.

Snape's eyes were surprisingly clouded as he looked at Harry. "Well, I must say that is a first for me. I've never had a lover that was willing to share his mind."

Harry smiled shyly. "What about it?"

Snape frowned. "What about what?"

"What happens now?" Harry asked urgently.

Snape lay back against the pillows. "I am going to get some rest and think of a plan to get us out of Bella's tender mercies and back to Hogwarts. If then you are still inclined to see if dreams live up to reality, then I just might be wiling to take you up on that offer."

Before Harry could say anything more, Snape closed his eyes. Seconds later Harry heard light snoring from Snape's side of the bed. 

Harry heard a noise and lifted himself out of the dream. He could hear the soft hiss of the flames under the cauldron, the bubble of the potion brewing... and the soft sounds of Snape lightly snoring.

Harry laughed in his mind and prepared to rejoin Snape's dreams. After all, Snape was a lot more fun to hold then he was to just sit inside of.

~*~*~

**January 19, 2004  
Day 24**

“Wake up!” The order was delivered with a brutal blow from Bellatrix’ wooden spoon, and Snape woke immediately. He sat up, suppressing a groan at the complaints his already abused muscles issued at the movement. His chains were gone, not that it really mattered; Snape highly doubted he could stand much less make a dash for the door.

/I think Mrs. Lestrange needs a course in anger management,/ Harry muttered.

/Either that, or a… what did you call it? A lobotomy?/ Snape replied.

Harry chuckled briefly, until Snape looked up at Bellatrix. Her dark eyes were slitted in anger as she kicked Snape in the ribs before storming off to her work table.

“The Dark Lord will be here tonight,” she said. “Which means our time together will have to end much sooner than I would have liked; a pity really. You really should have designed the potion so that it could be used more than once every fifteen hours.”

“I’ll have to work on that,” Snape muttered. Then a thought occurred to him. “What day is it?”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes in irritation as she approached holding a small flask of liquid, but answered him anyway. “Happily enough, it’s your least favourite day of the week – Monday.”

/My, how time flies when you’re having fun,/ Harry drawled. /I wonder if old Tom is bringing a casserole for dinner. I’m positively famished./

/No, he always brings potato salad,/ Snape replied. /It’s the curse of the Death Eaters; lines get crossed, and everyone brings potato salad. Except for Malfoy, who always brings a Jell-O mould. But it’s lime, and no one ever eats it./

Bellatrix glared at Snape. “Do try and pay attention. Could it be that you’ve already broken, Sevvie? You don’t seem to be all there.”

/He’s all there and a bag of crisps, Bella-baby,/ Harry muttered.

“I’m here, Bella,” Snape said. “Which is more than I can say for Harry Potter.”

Bellatrix preened. “Yes, that was some of my finest work. I’m sure that’s why you were out the other night, looking for me. Of course, by this point it’s too late; Potter’s soul should resemble a pickled gherkin.”

/I resemble that remark!/

“Let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?” Bellatrix said. “After all, the Dark Lord would be quite put out if you were insensate when he arrives.”

"Yes," Snape replied. "The Dark Lord so enjoys hearing the agonized shrieks of the damned. Almost as much as you do."

Bellatrix smiled sweetly and Harry was able to see the breath-taking beauty she must have once been. "Yes Sevvie, you remember that time well. Yours will be especially sweet to him now that he's got you in his grasp."

Snape simply downed the potion she gave him to heal him like a truly broken condemned man.

/Snape?/ Harry asked. /Do you have a plan?/

/Not particularly,/ he confessed. /Unless you know how to pick locks using the power of your under-developed Gryffindor brain./

Harry made sure Snape knew he was being sent a mental glare. Further debate was cut off, though, as Bella returned with another potion.

“It’s play time again, Sevvie,” she said.

/Harry, you should leave now,/ Snape warned as his chin was grasped.

/I think not, Snape./

/Goodbye, Harry./

Before he could object further, Harry felt himself being shut out again as Snape was force-fed the Crucio potion once more. Again, the steel wall went up, separating Harry from Snape and his pain.

/Damn it!/ Harry exclaimed. /When this is over, I don’t know who I’m going to kill first; Bella or you, Snape!/

With nothing to do, and no real heart to fluently insult Snape this time, Harry pulled himself in for meditation as he waited. Perhaps it was because of Snape’s complete lack of presence next to his mind, but Harry found himself dropping deeper and deeper, until he felt almost weightless.

The distinction of feeling weightless when he knew he had no substance set off a bell in Harry’s mind, and he opened his eyes. The fact that he opened his eyes was enough to make Harry downright giddy, until he looked around to see Snape writhing on the floor, his screams assaulting Harry’s insubstantial ears. Bellatrix was watching Snape from her chair, eyes wide and dilated, cheeks flushed, and a small smile on her face, and completely unaware that Harry was floating nearly directly in front of her.

Harry was suddenly very glad he had no stomach with which to feel nausea; Bellatrix was sexually excited by Snape’s pain. He then began fervently wishing he had a stomach so he could vomit as he watched as Bellatrix Lestrange began to touch herself to Snape's agonized screams.

Harry had been planning on remaining true to the Gryffindor spirit and bringing her in if possible, killing her cleanly if necessary but he was now seriously considering taking what was left of that Cauldron of Crucio in a Bottle and putting her on an IV drip.

By the time Snape's voice was down to a whisper and the spasms were giving their last twitches, Bellatrix was flushed and relaxed with an extremely sated smile on her face. She got up and tenderly rolled Snape onto his back, and almost lovingly placed a pillow under his head. She smoothed the sweat-soaked hair back from his head and Snape's eyes opened, unseeing and unfocused. It was disturbing to see in a man whose main characteristic was his formidable faculty.

"You scream so prettily, Sevvie," Bellatrix breathed as she placed a kiss between his eyes. "Maybe I could convince the Dark Lord to give you to me as a gift. Would you like that?"

Snape didn't answer, just kept staring at the ceiling with that blank look in his eyes as the expression on his face twitched, trying to recover his sanity from the pain.

She chuckled deep and low, pressing a deep kiss to Snape's slack lips. 

Harry growled, and his hands balled into fists. How dare she? No one but Harry could take advantage of Snape like that! He brought his fist up and then down rapidly. He felt a brush against his hand, and a small glass phial that had been sitting on the edge of the nearby table fell to the floor in a tinkling of broken glass.

Now that was unexpected, Harry thought.

Bellatrix stood swiftly, and picked up the shards. "I must be more mindful of where I place things," she muttered.

There was a noise from upstairs, and Bellatrix look at the ceiling. Again there was a series of shuffling footsteps, and a male voice called out.

"Just a moment, Rodolphus!" she called, and hurriedly threw the remains of the glass phial in the dustbin.

Harry tracked her exit from the basement, and as she rushed up the stairs, he noticed a ring hanging on the wall. A key ring. Harry allowed himself a grin; solution to getting out found. But how to make it work?

Harry rushed back inside and saw Snape was slowly gaining sensibility.

"Snape! Come on, Snape. Wake up. You have to help me," Harry called in his ghostly form.

"Harry..." Snape's voice barely a whisper against his raw throat as he screwed his eyes shut.

"Don't talk Snape, just listen to me. I think I can get us out of here but I need your help," Harry begged.

"How?" Snape asked softly.

Harry knelt or floated down to Snape's level. "Snape... does Bellatrix do anything to lock her chambers aside from a physical key?"

Snape shook his head. "No... Just key... Shows... helpless."

Harry got the general picture. By just locking the door with a key she was showing that she knew her prisoner couldn’t even muster any magic.

Harry floated back out the door and stared hard at the key. Peeves was able to do this without problems, he thought. Then again he was always laughing when he made things move. 

Harry tried to grab the key but felt his hands go right through it. Frustrated he kept swiping until not even thinking, just near blind with rage and frustration he swatted the key and it went sailing off the hook, ricocheted off the wall and landed on the floor.

Harry, if he had eyelids, would have blinked.

He also would have felt a smile stretch his lips. And Snape had said his emotions would leave him easy prey. Now it seemed that Harry's rampant heart might actually save them.

Harry concentrated. Picking something up meant he needed control.

He focused on all the love for his friends, the frustration at being trapped, the anger at Bellatrix, his worry for Snape. Once he had that, he reached down.

And wrapped his fingers around the key.

He was so shocked, he lost the build-up of emotion and dropped the thing with a clatter.

Correcting himself he built his emotions back up to their fever pitch and lifted the key to the lock and twisted it. The lock gave way.

Harry floated inside to see Snape hadn't even twitched.

"Snape... come on! I've got the door open. Let's go."

"Can't...tired... so tired... so sorry Harry...." Snape babbled.

"Snape, Get up!" Harry begged. "Please Severus, for me?"

Snape opened his eyes and stared balefully at where he thought Harry should be. "No strength. None..."

Harry reached out his transparent fingers and traced Snape's nose. "Then use mine..."

With that Harry allowed himself to sink into those deep, dark eyes and found himself in Snape's body. Harry could feel Snape's Spirit was exhausted, his mind unable to focus enough to move. Muscles screamed in pain and protest as Harry struggled to get Snape to his feet. There was a healing potion in the cabinet. If he could get there he could repair Snape's body enough to get them both out.

/Should...help.../ Snape whispered softly, his consciousness worn as it was from blocking Harry out for so long.

Step by painful step, Harry forced Snape’s body forward. The cabinet was less than two meters away, but it felt like a league before Harry lifted Snape’s trembling hand to grasp the handle and wrench the door open. There were a half dozen small flasks on the shelves, each containing a different colour liquid, one of which had several unpleasant-looking objects floating in it.

/Which one is it, Snape?/ Harry asked.

/Mummy says I mustn’t play with potions,/ Snape answered. /They’re only for making you better, and if you take the wrong one, you’ll get sick./

Harry tensed; Snape seemed to have reverted to the little boy he had met in the dream. It was a common occurrence to people who had been subjected to extreme trauma, and the victims usually returned to their normal mentality after a time. Usually.

/Which one does your mum give you when you scrape your knee?/ Harry asked carefully.

/Pretty blue one. Tastes like cookie dough./

Fortunately, there was only one blue potion in the cabinet. Harry grabbed the flask, noting unhappily that there was scarce two swallows’ worth left. /Here’s hoping you’re a quick healer,/ he said, and downed the healing potion.

A tingling sensation slowly spread through Snape’s body, and Harry felt his muscles relax slightly. Every movement still agony, Harry moved them across the basement. The open door beckoned to him, and he focused on that through the haze of Snape’s pain.

The stairwell was dark, and with each complaint from the wooden steps, Harry held Snape’s breath. Upstairs, he heard a commotion; things were being thrown, glass being broken. Above it all, Bellatrix’ voice rose, pleading with her husband to calm down.

/I guess he didn’t like Bella’s plan for you,/ Harry said.

Snape did not respond.

/Snape?/ Harry queried. /Severus? Talk to me, please,/ he begged.

/Papa said I must be quiet./ Snape’s voice was very quiet, almost hesitant. /I must stay in the closet until I learn my lesson./

/You’re not in the closet anymore, Severus,/ Harry insisted. /You’re with me, and right now we need to get out of this house. Do you remember that?/

/Children are to be seen and not heard,/ Snape responded. /That’s what Papa says./

Harry had reached the top of the steps, and he held his breath as he listened. The noises had stopped, and he heard the murmur of voices floating down from the floor above. Apparently, Bellatrix had taken her husband upstairs; it wouldn’t do to have Voldemort come to call when the house had been torn apart by Rodolphus' temper tantrum.

/Here we go,/ Harry said as he shuffled out into the hall. /Are you still with me, Snape?/

/Mummy says I mustn’t wake Papa,/ Snape said.

/That’s right; we’re going to be very quiet. And when we get out of here, you can tell me more about your mum. Are you ready?/

/Seven, eight, nine, ten. Ready or not, here I come!/

Harry could see the front door, and he made his slow way forward, hoping that his luck would hold long enough to get outside. In retrospect, he knew he shouldn’t have cursed himself that way. Instead, he kept praying until he reached the large wooden door.

A screech of rage from behind him was all the warning Harry had before Snape’s body was slammed against the wood. He spun around just in time to evade Bellatrix’ slashing fingers, and twisted from her grasp. She attacked again, hurling curses at him through the spittle that foamed at her mouth.

“You’re mine!” she screamed as he evaded her again. She feinted left, and when Harry dodged, she lunged right, grasping handfuls of Snape’s hair.

Harry fought her hold, but her nails raked down Snape’s face, and she bit into the side of his hand when Harry tried to push her away. He kicked at her shins, and knocked her off-balance enough to get free again.

When she came in for another attack, Harry was ready, and he spun out of the way, bumping into a small, heavy table against the wall. Bellatrix only managed to get a handful of Snape’s jumper, which tore as she went flying forward with her momentum.

Bellatrix hit the table face first, and there was a dull cracking sound. Harry tensed, expecting her to get up, but instead she slumped to the floor, pulling the table down on top of her. She did not move again.

Cautiously, in case it was a ruse, Harry crept forward. Snape’s heart was hammering, and his muscles were beginning to resume their complaints as he knelt beside Bellatrix’ still form. He reached out, and felt along under her jaw.

/She’s dead,/ Harry said.

/Mummy says dead is when you don’t ever wake up again,/ Snape whispered. /Just like Papa./

/You’re going to regret saying all this when you’re better,/ Harry said.

Snape giggled.

“Bella?” a man’s voice called from the floor above. “What’s going on down there?”

/That’s our cue to leave, / Harry said.

/Last one there is a rotten egg!/

As quickly as Snape’s abused body would allow, Harry got up and ran for the door. He heard footsteps on the stairs as he wrenched the door open, and he dashed out into the cool, crisp January twilight.

He looked around, and recognized the area; they were still in London proper, not far from where Harry and Ron had shared a flat right after graduation. As he began walking down the street, Harry kept Snape’s head down as he patted Snape’s pockets, finding a handful of change. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the Underground to the stop near Grimauld Place.

~*~*~

**January 21, 2004  
Day 26**

Snape opened his eyes slowly; uncomfortably aware that the room he was in was apparently decorated entirely in white. He smelled the sickly-sweet potions commonly given to children complaining of phantom aches and pains, and heard someone bustling around nearby. His eyes barely open, he turned his head to look around despite the pain that simple movement brought.

He was in the infirmary at Hogwarts, in a private room. On the bed beside him was Harry, still and silent, his eyes closed as he breathed deeply and evenly. The thought of Harry brought back dim recollections of their escape, including the image of Bella’s dead staring eyes as Harry said something about leaving. As though on cue, Snape felt a stirring in the back of his mind.

/Oh good, you’re awake,/ Harry said. /I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be stuck watching images of dancing potions paraphernalia for the rest of your natural days./

/You really need to learn to mind your own business,/ Snape groused. /How long have I been unconscious?/

/I’m not really sure. When you’re asleep, my sense of time gets muddled. But then, like I’ve always said, time flies when you’re having fun./

Snape groaned in irritation, which drew the attention of the other occupants in the room.

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore said as he crossed over to the bed. “I’m glad you’ve finally returned to us.”

“I need...” Snape’s voice was rough with disuse, and he suspected he might have suffered damage from the screaming he had done while under torture. “I need Potion of Free Souls. We can put Harry back now.”

/Just when I was beginning to think you might like me,/ Harry said. /That eager to get rid of me?/

/Of course. And that aside, I really would rather not have to wonder which one of our souls would win out if we wait too long./

/Point taken./

“I have it here,” Dumbledore said. “I take it the person who cast the Dementor’s Curse on Harry is dead?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Snape confirmed. “There... was a struggle.”

“Of course.” Dumbledore nodded sagely, and he brandished his wand. “Mobilus Corpus.”

Harry’s body levitated off the bed, and followed Dumbledore’s direction to rest gently on the bed beside Snape. Dumbledore then handed Snape a small phial, and smiled beatifically.

“It will be nice to have you both back to your old selves again,” he said. There was the sound of voices from the other side of the door. “I suppose I shall tell the others the good news. If you’ll excuse me?”

Snape nodded, and waited until the door closed behind Dumbledore before thumbing the phial open, and downing the contents.

/What? No goodbye?/ Harry said.

/Goodbye, Harry./

The only way to put a soul back into a body was the same as the only way it could be taken out, Snape knew. He leaned over, and pressed his lips against Harry’s, trying to concentrate on sending Harry’s soul back to its rightful home. But he couldn’t help notice how much nicer the reality of Harry’s mouth was, compared to his dream. If he kept the contact a little bit longer than was strictly necessary, Snape was not going to admit it. And Harry’s lips were pleasantly soft and warm.

And moving underneath him.

Snape pulled back, and looked down into Harry’s eyes. Harry smiled, and Snape felt the urge to respond in kind. He was about to say something to Harry when the door opened, and a veritable troop of people entered the room. Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Remus Lupin swarmed towards the bed, all their attention occupied on Snape’s companion.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, and Harry turned towards her.

“Hi,” he croaked out.

Snape fell back against his pillow, more exhausted than he should have been. Obviously, he was not completely healed from his ordeal. He couldn’t help but ruefully wish he had the same constitution as Harry, who was already trying to stand on shaky legs even as Poppy approached with a wheelchair.

“Now, now, Mister Potter,” she clucked. “You just sit right here, and we’ll all go outside so that Professor Snape can have his rest. Go on now!” She made shoo-ing motions with her hands, ushering them all out the door. 

Before Poppy could wheel him away, Harry turned to Snape, and smiled again.

“Thank you, Snape,” he said.

“Anytime,” Snape muttered. “And you were right; the Potion of Free Souls is ‘gross.’” He slowly closed his eyes, and pretended to fall asleep so that he could watch through slitted eyes as Harry left, giving one last glance back before the door was shut between them.

~*~*~

**Three And a Half Weeks Later  
February 14, 2004**

Harry walked the halls of Hogwarts, feeling as though he had been away for at least a year, even though it had only been three weeks. As soon as Poppy had pronounced him well enough to travel, he had gone directly to the Ministry of Magic for what felt like dozens of debriefings, meetings, and planning sessions that had culminated in an Auror raid of the house where he and Snape had been held.

The house was void of any occupants, though. They had seen various signs of struggle, and Bellatrix’ blood was not the only blood they found on their search. The official report stated that Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were missing, presumed dead. There was, of course, nothing in the house to link to Voldemort.

The one positive thing that Harry came away with after that raid was Snape’s wand. He had been drawn to its location as though he were looking for his own wand. It was nestled at the bottom of Bellatrix’ underwear drawer, and Harry had performed a thorough cleaning spell on before he would even touch it. He had also found his small brass bell, resting lightly atop Rodolphus’ dresser amidst other trinkets that Harry had a sinking suspicion belonged to past captives.

But finally, all reports filed, all meetings finished, Harry had come back to Hogwarts to return Snape’s wand. That was the excuse he was using anyway. The regular Dark Arts Professor had returned from the family emergency that had left the position open for Harry in the first place, so Harry had no reason to check on his former classes. Dumbledore had kept him abreast on Snape’s recovery, so Harry had not worried over much while he was away.

Yet he had felt... incomplete the full three weeks. His mind was too quiet, and there was no one to provide sarcastic comments on everything from his choice of personal care products to the way he ate his morning eggs. Harry’s dreams had been downright boring, and he had caught himself on a number of occasions trying to start mental conversations.

As he walked through the school, moving closer and closer to the dungeons, Harry felt increasingly happier Not even the obnoxiously cheerful pink hearts and red and white streamers hanging from the ceiling bothered him as he dodged out of the way of a Cupid’s Bolt sent towards him by a giggling Fifth Year Gryffindor.

When he reached Snape’s quarters, he briefly contemplated letting himself in, but opted for knocking instead. There was no answer, but Dumbledore had assured Harry that the Potions Master was indeed in his rooms this evening. Harry knew he could have waited until dinner, but decided to knock again.

“Merlin’s beard!” Snape exclaimed from the other side of the door. “For the last time, Albus, I don’t want any of your bloody chocolates!”

Harry grinned. “But they’ve got caramel centres. I know you like caramel.”

The door was flung open, and Snape stood there, giving Harry a blank look. “Hello, Potter,” he said.

“Hi, Snape. Mind if I come in?” he asked, still grinning.

Snape stepped back, and invited Harry in with a sarcastic flourish. Harry entered, and walked to the centre of Snape’s living room.

“You really ought to think about redecorating,” he said.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘red’ or ‘gold,’ I will be forced to harm you,” Snape drawled as he leaned against the closed door. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I was going to ask you to the dance tonight,” Harry said. “But I don’t feel much like dancing.”

“We’re not stuck together anymore, Potter. I don’t have to put up with your prattling this time.”

“I know,” Harry said, and his smile dimmed somewhat. He held out Snape’s wand. “Here. I thought you might want this.”

Snape walked over to where Harry stood, and picked up his wand. “Where did you find it?”

“Trust me when I say you don’t want to know. I also think you might want to contemplate getting a new one all together, because eww!”

“You’re right; I don’t want to know.”

They stood there in silence, just looking at each other. The moment stretched into another, until Harry took a step closer, his face completely serious.

“How have you been?” Harry asked quietly.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Snape said equally as quiet, and stepped closer as well.

“I...” Harry swallowed. “I missed...”

As if of their own volition, Snape’s arms reached up and wrapped around Harry, pulling their bodies flush together. He relaxed one arm enough to brush a bit of hair away from Harry’s face, and then leaned in and kissed him.

Harry immediately returned the kiss, which became several small kisses broken up by a few firm, long ones. He wound his own arms around Snape’s waist, and flattened his hands against Snape’s back. Reluctantly, they ended the kiss, and pressed their foreheads together.

Snape smiled ever so slightly. “As did I,” he said, and kissed Harry again.


End file.
